Page 83 of Counting on Love

“I did not accuse her of any such thing!”

“Reg, I heard you. And if that is what I heard, you can believe that’s what she heard too.”

“She came to Chaumbers to be courted by Jasper!”

“Which makes Jasper one of at least sixteen fellows to throw his hat into the ring. She won’t accept him.”

“He is going to be an earl. And he’s Jasper.”

“That is incredibly offensive. If I was not now leery of your right paw, I would throw a punch on her behalf. She won’t marry Jasper. She may end up marrying someone else, someday, but it will never be Jasper. Now you can go tell him to shove aside because you are going to woo her, or you can let her go. But whichever you decide, you owe her an apology. Not for kissing her, but for thinking she would let you kiss her like that if she had any intention of encouraging Jasper.”

Reginald stood still, breathing unsteadily. There was some sense in what Crispin said. It made him feel worse, but at the same time, left open the door to a glimmer of hope. Just the faintest glimmer. He was bound to do something that would slam that door shut.

“Think it over,” Crispin said more gently.

“I don’t have to think it over. I won’t simply let her go. But I’m not like you. I can’t just barrel into fraught conversations.” He studied his brother. “How do you do it?”

Crispin’s face changed. Rather than sardonic, he simply looked tired.

“Reg, I will say this, but you are not permitted to reply. All right?” He paused, and when Reginald said nothing, he went on, “I have lived most of my life with one foot in the grave. I don’t procrastinate. Which includes not putting off necessary conversations.” He smiled wryly. “I rather enjoy them. The discomfort reminds me that I’m still alive.”

“You do avoid some conversations.”

“Upt!” Crispin held up his hand. “No response, remember? I avoid one topic. Now we move on to the next. Why was Georgiana going through Bradwell’s books? And what did she find that she refuses to tell?”

Reginald balked. He could not reveal Georgiana’s secret, her gift, because that would be a betrayal, even though Crispin would find it as remarkable as he had himself.

“There is nothing worthwhile in our library. She was bored.”

“She has that novel from home.”

“The Italian? That’s Mother’s. Or Olivia’s.”

“No, something else. About a courtesan.”

“What?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Crispin said. “She was bored. So you gave her a ledger to read? Were you drunk again?”

God. He could not lie to save his life.

“Not to read. I just asked her to skim a few of the ledgers and note a few things.”

“What things? What did you have her looking for?”

His neck felt hot. “I can’t say—”

“You can’t say because this is a fudge. I’ll ask her.”

“Crispin, drop it. I don’t know what Georgiana found, but she says it doesn’t matter and I trust her.”

“It may not matter to you. Or to her. But I have a nagging suspicion of my own and if it’s the same one, what she found does matter to someone. Very much so.”

“You can’t ask her, or she’ll know you were listening behind the wall.”

Crispin laughed. “Didn’t we just establish that I live for embarrassing conversations?”

“Crispin—”

“Don’t look so terrified. I’m not going to interrogate her now, in front of Olivia. We’ll tell them all I just arrived. I came this way from the Squire’s. You’d better let me do the talking. Now, come on, gudgeon. We have to get back to the house. And you’ll have to face her sometime. Let’s get it over with.”